Sickness & Soup Spilling
by nothingtolose18
Summary: Oneshot. When Trish has the flu, she asks Ally to come visit. Instead, she gets Dez, that whackadoodle, armed with Zaliens, soup, and...ham? A little fluff, a lot of sass. Slight Trez feels!


**A/N: This is my first Austin & Ally fic of (hopefully) many! I've begun to ship Trish and Dez quite a bit, and they were just so much fun to write together! **

_ally, i think im DYING :( i cant go the austin and ally meeting today, im too sick. come visit me after? a visit from my bff might cure me :)_

Okay, maybe Trish was being over-dramatic, but just barely. She'd gone to bed early the night before because she'd been tired and dragged out. It evidently hadn't helped her any, because she had woken up around midnight with a wicked cough and sore throat. She'd barely gotten any sleep for the rest of the night. Of course, it _had _to be a Saturday; she didn't even benefit by missing any school! There was no way she could drag herself out of bed to go to the Team Austin and Ally meeting.

The vibrating phone caught Trish's attention, and she read the reply from Ally. _I'm sorry you're sick, Trish! :( I'll see what I can do. You know Austin and I need to get his latest song finished ASAP, but if we get that done in time I will definitely come visit you! Feel better soon! Xoxo_

"Ugh." Trish uttered some semblance of a groan, and lightly chucked the phone to the other end of her bed. She knew that Ally had to finish writing Austin's song, and as Austin's manager, Trish couldn't argue with her logic. Still, she wished that her best friend had time to come see her today.

She rolled over in her bed and decided to try to get some more sleep, since all she'd gotten the night before probably only added up to a couple hours. Miraculously, she found herself able to drift off into sleep, only waking up about an hour later to the sound of her bedroom door opening.

"Ally!" she croaked, still facing the wall. She tried to work up the energy to turn around, but she was so snug and cozy in her position that she didn't want to move. "I'm so glad that you came over. Writing Austin's song didn't take as long as you thought?"

There was no response. Trish turned over slowly to see Dez standing in front of her bed, holding a pot of soup in his oven mitt-clad hands. He grinned at her brightly. "Hi, Trish!"

"Dez?" she demanded, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she was in day-old pajamas with unbrushed hair - not that it mattered. It was only Dez. She pulled the covers up tighter around her. "You're not Ally," she added unnecessarily.

"I wasn't the last time I checked!" Dez was always so maddeningly cheerful that Trish couldn't stomach it, especially when she was feeling so crummy.

"What are you doing here?" Trish asked bluntly. She was never one for subtlety.

Dez was accustomed to her attitude, and so didn't seem to even take notice of her rude tone. "Well, Ally said that you were feeling sick, but that she couldn't go visit you because she was too busy writing with Austin. So I figured that I would come over, instead." He laid the pot of soup onto her dresser, then took off his backpack. He began removing things as he named them out. "See? I have cough drops, and tissues, and ham, and Zaliens, and Zaliens 2, and Zaliens 3, and Zaliens 4, and -"

"Whoa, wait," Trish interrupted. "I get it, you have all the Zaliens movies. Why do you have ham?" She glared at the large piece of ham, which was now dripping rather disgustingly over her dresser.

"All except Zaliens 6, obviously!" Dez said, furrowing his brow and frowning at her. "Duh. And oops, that's for me." He grinned and put the ham back in his backpack. Trish shuddered. She didn't want to know where that ham had been.

"I made you some soup!" Dez crowed, taking a bowl out of his backpack that looked suspiciously like her mother's favourite set of dishes. He removed the cover from the pot and began ladling soup into the bowl.

"Is that my mom's bowl?" Trish asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, she didn't seem to mind, so..." he trailed off with a shrug.

"That's because she's not home right now," Trish said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh. That might be why." Dez concentrated on filling the bowl. He went to pick up the nearly-full bowl, still wearing the oven mitts, and Trish had visions of her entire bedroom coated in soup. Bad enough that her dresser was full of ham drippings.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Trish cried out, straining her already sore throat. "Let me get that." She scrambled out of her bed and carefully picked it up and brought it back. God knows where that soup would go if she trusted Dez to bring it to her.

She sat cross-legged on her bed and stared down at the soup. It did look good, but Trish didn't want to admit this. "Is this safe to eat?" she finally demanded, giving him a look.

"Trish! Of _course _it's good to eat! I won the chili contest, don't you remember? I'm an amazing cook!" Dez managed to look offended and proud all at the same time.

"You won the chili contest by default," Trish reminded him. "And how am I supposed to eat this with no spoon?"

"Oh, right. I knew I took something else from your cupboards." Dez produced a spoon, and stood over her. "Voilà!" He dropped the spoon directly into the bowl from his standing height.

"No, don't!" Trish knew what was going to happen a second before it did. The spoon struck the surface of the soup and splashed directly into her face. Luckily for Trish's (and Dez's) well-being, the soup had cooled so that it wasn't scalding hot anymore. It was merely lukewarm. That didn't make Trish feel much better, though, as it dripped down her face and onto her bed. Dez let out a yelp.

"You idiot!" she screeched, depositing the now half-filled bowl of soup to the night table next to her bed. She stood up, feeling the soup drip onto her neck and down her pajama shirt. "You absolute doof. Look what you did!"

Dez had produced some paper towels from his massive backpack, and was now struggling to pat her face clean; since he was still wearing the oven mitts, it proved difficult.

"Don't touch me!" Trish huffed, snatching the paper towels out of his hands and wiping her face and neck. "Ugh!"

"I'm sorry, Trish, I didn't mean -" Dez was trying to apologize, but she was having none of it.

"Out! Get out of my room!" Trish yelled, her voice worsening. She pointed dramatically toward the door. "Get out!"

"You want me to leave?" Dez asked, looking genuinely hurt.

"Yes!" Dez began to pack up his things, looking dejected. Despite the fact that she was now not only miserably sick but also drenched with soup, Trish started to feel a tiny bit bad. He _had _made her soup and came to visit her because he knew she wanted company. "Ugh, fine, doofus, you don't have to go," she snapped, crossing her arms. Dez looked up, eyes alight once more, and Trish sighed. It was so _easy _to make him happy. "Just ... get out for a few minutes. I need to change and clean up."

He obliged, leaving the room and giving her time to finished wiping her face, put on proper clothes, and change her soup-splattered bedsheets.

When he returned, Trish was feeling a little better. Cleaning up had made her feel less sick and more normal. She still needed a shower, but she didn't want to get one with Dez here. And now at least she was dressed and looking a little more presentable. Not that she cared what Dez thought of her, of course, but for her own sake she was glad to look more like herself.

"Do you want anything?" Dez asked, still as eager to help as ever.

Trish rolled her eyes. "I think you've done enough. But ... you could fluff my pillows if you'd like."

Dez nodded eagerly and rushed forward, fluffing her pillows and placing them behind her back. She leaned back, relishing the attention. He tucked the blankets carefully around her and then plopped next to her on the bed.

"You still never had any of my soup," he reminded her.

"I think I had _plenty _of your soup," she said coolly, her voice raspier than ever now that she'd been yelling. "And why are you still wearing those dumb oven mitts?"

Dez removed the offending mitts. "I forgot I still had them on. And no, really. You don't sound so good." He sounded concerned. "The soup will help your throat. I promise."

"Well, my throat was about the only part of me that didn't have any," she agreed. She picked up the abandoned bowl next to her bed. "Fine. I'll try some."

She took a tentative sip, then another spoonful. "Mmm, it's actually – it's okay." It was the best compliment that he could hope for from her right now, given what he'd just done. Secretly, Trish thought it was great.

Dez positively beamed at her. "I know, right? The chicken, the potatoes, the carrots, the noodles. It all goes so well together. But I think the cod liver oil is what really gives it that _zing_, you know?" He snapped his fingers.

Trish, who had been gulping down the soup and been right in the middle of a mouthful, spit it back into the bowl. "The cod liver what in the what now?!"

"Cod liver oil is good for you!" Dez exclaimed.

"I don't care," she declared, forcing herself to resist the urge to throw the soup in his face, if only for the fact that she didn't want to mess up her fresh sheets. "I think I'll take my chances without it."

"Yeah, and look where that got you," Dez said, gesturing to her.

"I would rather be sick for the rest of my life than eat oil made from the liver of fish," she retorted.

"Well, _I _think it's delicious." Dez grabbed her abandoned bowl and quickly scarfed down the rest. Trish grimaced with distaste. "Mmm. Want to watch Zaliens?"

Trish nodded her agreement. "We have to start off with the first one."

"Of course, we can't start in the middle of the series! How lame." Dez quickly got the DVD set up. He settled on the top of the blankets beside Trish on the bed. They quickly became engrossed in the movie.

There were many things that they could never agree on, but one thing that they had the same taste about was the Zaliens series. They laughed at all the same parts, and always made a cheer of appreciation when there were plenty of Zalien guts spilling everywhere.

"Ah, that was great." Trish sighed happily as the army of Zaliens on the screen exploded into gory bits, littering the entire school on the screen in Zalien brains. The credits began to roll over the screen. Although she'd known it was the ending, Trish thought it crazy how quickly the first movie had gone by.

"Ready to watch the second?" Dez questioned, already jumping off the bed to change the movies.

"Sure." Trish's voice sounded small and ragged. It had not fared well during their afternoon of fighting and laughing.

"Are you okay?" Dez was instantly on alert. "Your voice is so quiet. Usually you're so loud and –" he stopped himself at a glare from Trish. "Um. Loud and lovely," he improvised.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Trish threatened. "I'm fine. Seriously."

"Are you sure? Do you want some more soup?" Dez got the ladle and grabbed the empty bowl.

"Yes, I'm sure. And no, I don't want anymore of your chicken fish noodle soup or whatever."

"Well, at least have a cough drop." Dez unwrapped a package of Halls and handed her one. "Here. Your throat sounds so painful."

Trish sighed, but took the cough drop, at his insistence. It _was _kind of nice to have someone worry over her health, even if it was just silly Dez.

Dez put Zaliens 2 on play, and they were soon too interested in the movie to talk much. It wasn't long, however, until Trish's lack of sleep from the night before began catching up to her, and she had to struggle to keep her eyes open. As the movie wore on, it became much more difficult to stay awake, until she was finally staring at the movie through bleary, half-shut eyes. Finally she lost the tenuous grasp that she had on consciousness, and slipped into sleep.

When she awoke, the sky outside had dulled to a deep steel blue. The screen on the television was dark. She blinked slowly, trying to get her bearings, until she realized that her head was laying on Dez's shoulder.

She straightened up quickly and glared at Dez. "Dez! Why didn't you wake me up or something?"

He shrugged. "You just looked so tired. I didn't want to disturb you." He glanced away, seemingly embarrassed, although Trish couldn't figure out why. "Thought you could use it, since you're sick."

"Oh..." Trish drew the word out, suddenly feeling awkward and tense. "It looks late. How long was I out?"

"About a couple of hours." Dez stood and stretched. Trish winced at the cracking sound. "Ah, that feels really good." He began packing up his supplies, leaving the cough drops and tissues on the dresser.

Trish suddenly wasn't sure how to react to the fact that he'd sat there for two hours with her head on his shoulder, not moving her for fear of waking her up, to the point where he'd probably been uncomfortable. Why had he done that? And why was he being so weird now?

"Oh. Uh. Too bad I missed the end of Zaliens 2." Since when did they make small talk?

"Well, it's not like you haven't seen it a bajillion times," he reminded her. "Hey, I guess I should be going." He glanced at his watch. "I told Mom I would be home for dinner an hour or so ago, and I forgot my phone so she couldn't call me. Are you okay to stay by yourself, Trish?"

Trish felt a stab of guilt that he'd probably freaked his mom out just because he hadn't wanted to move her, but she quickly shoved it aside. She hadn't asked him to let her sleep on his shoulder, after all. She rolled her eyes at him. "Of course I am, you doofus. It's just the flu. I'll be fine. My parents should be home soon, anyway. Thanks for coming over and bringing me fishy soup."

Dez seemed to relax when Trish fell into their old routine, and he grinned back at her. "You're welcome, Trish. I am a master chef," he said, bowing grandly. "Even if you're too uncultured to enjoy my cuisine, I know that there are others who will appreciate the art of my cooking."

"Un_cultured_?" Trish roared, rising from the bed. Dez was out the door before she'd had time to react, obviously not wanting to face her wrath. She shook her head as she settled back into the bed, chuckling. She would have to get him back for that next time she saw him. What a stupid whackadoodle. What would she do without him?


End file.
